


Ten Sweeps

by HexMeridian (myrainbowshoelaces)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Birthday, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Celebrations, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-Endgame, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Quadrant Confusion, Wriggling Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrainbowshoelaces/pseuds/HexMeridian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Karkat's Wriggling Day, and he's got a lot on his mind. Fortunately, there's a party going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Sweeps

 

Can Town hums with noise and light below, impossibly beautiful in its post-game larger-than-life incarnation. You aren’t used to any of this yet, the lights strewn between the cylindrical buildings all laid out in the pattern you helped the Mayor put together sweeps ago on the meteor.

 

The meteor. Feels like a strange combination of yesterday and long ago. Everything does, blurred at the edges in a haze of disbelief, of still occasionally needing to slap yourself to realize that yeah, this is real, and you’re awake, and you survived.

 

Two sweeps since you set foot on New Earth’s soil, since this became your home. Two sweeps of creating a new civilization from the ground up, days full of trial and error and confusion and best guesswork, nights spent trying to fight through the onslaught of nightmares and trauma. Two sweeps have passed and now you’re standing on the balcony of the can-hive-house you share with Dave, looking down at the celebrating group that’s gathered below.

 

Everything is a buzz of activity, people moving around to talk or to get glasses of cherry red punch from the communal bowl (probably Terezi’s idea, at this point she’s hellbent on making sure literally everyone knows the colour of your blood and that it’s okay that you have it). Fireflies dot the air, mingling with the strings of lights hung from the windows. Ambient music floats up from a pair of massive speakers, the tunes hand-picked and carefully remixed by Earth’s number one (read: only) DJ, currently away from his post as a pre-crafted playlist rumbles its bass out through the crowd.

 

You see your friends scattered about the makeshift party space, some eating snacks while others converse or dance, the atmosphere friendly and welcoming.  

 

It’s the perfect wriggling day party.

 

You can’t bring yourself to join it.

 

You hear footsteps behind you and then feel a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist, warm and comforting. Dave leans over to join you in staring down at the crowd, and his breath tickles at your ear.  

 

“Gonna stay up on the balcony surveying your subjects all night, Karkitty?”

 

You snort, giving Dave a dig in the ribs with your elbow. “The only king around here is you,” you growl. “King of the douchelords.”

 

“That’s me,” Dave says, giving you light kisses on your neck that still send electric currents running up and down your spine, even after sweeps together. “Lord of Douche. I think I like that better than Knight of Time, I should make everyone call me that from now on. My powers are over every douche in existence, which means, guess what?” He spins you around, which causes you to only mildly protest, and grips you in a tight hug. He’s not wearing his shades, a more and more common occurrence in recent months. “You are now my loyal subject. Kneel, motherfucker.”

 

You lean in and rest your forehead against his. Dave’s eyes are a dusky red in the moonlight, warm and full of mirth to match the smirk on his face. You know they match your own, and it’s comforting to know how that really doesn’t bother you any more. He tilts his chin forward, going for a kiss, but you interrupt him, whispering in mock seduction: “I’m not the one who’s fucking your mother, Dave. He’s down there tearing up the dance floor with her in classic chump of shoosh fashion.”

 

Dave laughs, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, John can bone whoever he likes, it just gives me the added bonus of being able to call him Daddy if the girl he’s mackin’ on happens to be Roxy.”

 

“Humans are so weird,” you say, shaking your head. “With your ‘parents’ and ‘children’, which are concepts that don’t even make any fucking sense for all of you, what with the paradox slime self-creation and shit.”

 

“Sure,” Dave shrugs, leaning forward to give you a kiss. “But it’s totally hella ironic.”

 

You give him a shove, exasperated but playful, and turn around so that the two of you now stand side-by-side, looking down at the festivities. The music changes and you recognize the track, one of the ones you and Dave mixed together back on the meteor. A little pedestrian compared to the things the two of you’ve both worked on since, but nostalgic, enough to tug at your bloodpusher’s strings a little and rest your head on his shoulder.

 

As you lean on your matesprit/boyfriend/whatever the heck word the two of you have picked to describe your relationship with for the day (Dave is fond of referring to it as a ‘banana’), you look up at the moon and the floating white words hanging in the sky just beside it. None of you were ever going to get used to there being massive words hanging over this world, and there were plenty of days where the supposedly encouraging phrase felt more like a giant middle finger pointed specifically in your direction.

 

‘Thanks for playing’. Yeah right, more like thanks for the blood and the tears, the death and destruction, the fuck ups and failures, the victory that still feels so sickeningly bittersweet when you think about everyone you left behind. Your dead friends who still haunt your dreams.  

When Dave finally speaks it’s comforting, anchoring you back to reality. “So, seriously, you planning on joining the party anytime soon, or am I gonna have to stand under the balcony with an old-school boombox playing sappy jams?”

 

“I’ll get to it, fuck,” you elbow him again, aiming for his ribcage but mostly hitting stomach, making Dave say ‘ow’ in a deadpan voice that makes you feel both exasperated and soothed at the same time. Dave Strider is a ridiculous ass with the most obnoxious and frustrating attitude and gog damn even after over three sweeps together you’re still taken aback by just how much you utterly love the itinerant fuckhead.

 

“I mean, it’s cool,” Dave shifts his arm so it’s around your shoulder, looking up at the sky with you. “It’s your party, your birthday, your celebration. If you wanna spend it up here, that’s your call.” He squeezes your shoulder and you feel warm, comfortable, safe, a feeling you always get when you’re with him that never seems to get old. “Whole bunch of folks down there wanna hang with the crabbykat tonight though, so if you’re gonna do your wriggling day solo style, you just gotta let me know so I can tell everyone to cut the cake and roll on out.”

 

You sigh. “No, I’ll head down soon, I just…” you trail off, continuing to stare at the sky. “Needed some time to think.”

 

Dave leans over and raises a hand, concentrating. You feel everything slow to a complete stop around you, the sounds of the party ceasing as the breeze stills and the hovering fireflies suddenly freeze. He turns to you and gives you a smile. “There,” he says. “You’ve got all the time in the world. What’s up?”

 

You sigh again, finding Dave’s hand in the moonlight and giving it a squeeze. “It’s just kinda freaking me out,” you say, absentmindedly tracing your fingers along the back of his hand. “I’ve spent my whole fucking life waiting for someone to find out I’m a mutant and end up culled. Even after we came here I just can’t stop feeling like any second a drone’s gonna drop out of the fucking sky and eviscerate me.” You shudder involuntarily. “Before we played the game I didn’t think I’d make it past nine sweeps. Now I’m here and I’ve made it to ten.”

 

Dave rests his head on yours and sighs, both of you staring at the frozen fireflies hovering between you and the moon. “Well,” he says, finally. “Guess I should feel lucky you played the game then. Ten sweeps looks damn good on you, crabkitty.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” you grumble, feeling your face heat up.      

 

“Hey, you’re ten sweeps old,” Dave tilts his head to give you a peck on the forehead. “That means I get to come up with ten hilarious and adorable nicknames for you. Like… ” he begins to trace a line of kisses down your temple towards your jaw. “Karkrab. Crabcat. Kittykat. Kitkat. Karkles. Karkalicious. Karbonation. Sweet Krab and hella Kat. Mister Krabs.”

 

You groan and raise a hand to his face, attempting to shove him off. “Fuck off,” you mumble, even though you’re not particularly sincere.

 

“Come on, one more?” Dave grins at you and you melt a little inside. You can never get enough of his stupid coolkid smile. “It could be worse, in human years you’re twenty, I should be giving you ten more adorable Striderian monikers.”

 

You groan, but in an exaggerated manner. “Do I really have to put up with this ridiculous shit for the rest of my life?” you say, poking Dave in the chest. “Awful nicknames from the most insufferable prick in paradox space?”

 

Dave leans in and gives you a kiss that would have made time stop if it hadn’t been frozen already. His lips against yours still manage to strip away all of your defenses and leave you bare, even after all this time, after hundreds, no thousands, of kisses, countless nights of whispered conversations, of tears, of nightmares and daydreams, of passion and love and closeness. After sweeps and sweeps with this ridiculous, impossible, aggravating, somehow perfect for you human boy with eyes like yours and scars that tell stories of pain you cannot know but can still understand, his kiss still straight up takes your breath away.

 

Then he breaks off the kiss and whispers “Beep beep, meow” and you almost shove him off the balcony.

 

“GOGFUCKING DAMNIT DAVE I THOUGHT WE WERE HAVING A MOMENT!”

 

“Sure we were,” Dave grabs your arms as you attempt to jerk-flail away from him in half-hearted disgust and indignance. “A moment of me coming up with one last ever so precious nickname for my dearest and most beloved karkrab-mckitty, knight of my heart, leader of my soul-”

 

“Oh my god STOP already-”

 

“Kitkat Vantastic, ruling monarch of all things Striderian, I am overblown by your presence, your existence utterly slays me, look at how I am slain.” He throws his head back dramatically, one hand against his forehead. “I have died for my sins, this death is Just.”

 

You grab him by the collar and kiss him again, hoping this will actually shut him up. It seems to work for a moment, at least it does until the two of you hear someone awkwardly clearing their throat down below and calling up to you.

 

“Uhh, Dave, did you freeze time again?”

 

“Sweet Troll Jegus on a tricycle,” Dave groans, pulling away from you. “John, Karkat and I are kind of having a moment up here, do you mind?”

 

“It’s just weird being down here with everyone else all frozen and stuff,” John called up, his weird-ass windsock hood somehow flowing in the breeze despite the time stop. Fucking breath players, always looking so majestic. “If you and Karkat need to keep talking that’s cool, but can you unfreeze everyone else?”

 

“RIght,” you scoff. “Talking, that’s what we’re doing up here, not engaging in interspecies sloppy makeouts, okay.”

 

“Okay, okay, fuck,” Dave raises his hand again and unfreezes time, the party suddenly a blur of noise and colour again. You wince, but the cacophony doesn’t sound as disconcerting to you any more, especially after Dave’s reassurance and kisses and horrible barrage of humiliating nicknames.  

 

“Are you two coming down?” John calls up. “Jane says it’s almost time to cut the cake!”

 

You lean down over the balcony, glaring at Egbert. “So help me fucking gog I will swoop down and shit on your head if you don’t shut the fuck up, John,” you yell. “We’ll be down when we’re good and fucking ready, thanks very much.”

 

Dave grins. “Yeah bro,” he says. “What the birthday boy said. Hold your hoofbeasts.”

 

John says something else but you’re ignoring him, going back to Dave and his ridiculous smile and the way his hand feels in yours. “I’m never gonna get used to him being able to jump around outside time,” Dave grumbles. “That shit used to be specifically my goddamn territory, I feel like I need to duel him for reign over my domain.”

 

“Maybe after the party?” You suggest.

 

“There can be swords and cheering crowds,” Dave agrees. “Turn it into a big event. The Annual Karkat Vantas Day Beatdown Slash Dick Measuring Contest. Winner gets to make out with the birthday boy.”

 

You bristle. “I don’t want to make out with anyone but you, turdbrain!”

 

“Hey, that works out,” Dave smirks again and leans in just close enough for your lips to touch. “Because I’m gonna be the one to win.”

 

The two of you kiss again, long and slow with arms wrapped around each other. Below you, you can hear scattered cheers and applause, your friends noticing both your absence and your current location, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re ten sweeps old and living on a new and beautiful planet and you have friends, you have family, and they’re all here to celebrate something that you used to fear.

 

You break apart. Dave puts his shades back on and you can see your face reflected in the lenses. Your eyes started slowly changing a sweep ago but you still aren’t used to how red your irises are, but take comfort in the fact that seeing them now just reminds you of what you have in common with Dave instead of the overwhelming fear you used to feel.

 

“Love you,” you whisper.

 

“I know,” Dave grins. “Love you too.”

 

The two of you hop over the edge of the balcony and float down to the ground, Dave supporting you even though he doesn’t strictly have to since you’re god tier too now, he really needs to stop treating you like you’re going to break like glass. The others gather around and engulf you in excited chatter and congratulations, shoving cups of punch into your hand and bickering about presents.

 

“Who says you get to give Karkat your present first?” John says, glaring at Terezi, who’s smirking as she leans against her cane. “Why do you get dibs?”

 

“I’ve known him the longest, Egbert,” Terezi replies, turning up her nose at him. “And it’s my sovereign right as Supreme Legislacerator of Rainbow Rumpus City.”

 

“That is NOT ITS NAME!”

 

“Yes it is!”

 

“No it isn’t!”

 

“Is!”

 

“Isn’t!”

 

“MMMPH.”      

 

You watch as Egbert’s last word is cut off by Terezi darting forward and crushing his mouth in a kiss. They wrestle with each other for a moment before Dave jumps in, shooing the two of them apart. “Hey, hey,” he says, decaptchaloguing a spray-bottle full of water. “As your auspistice I reserve full right to squirt at you two until you cease this public display of tonsil hockey hate. Save it for after the party, jeez.”

 

John and Terezi reluctantly break apart, the former wandering over to stand by Roxy, who’s sitting on a bench with Rose and Calliope and gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. You still find the entire situation hilarious. Of all the people to have a solid understanding of how quadrants work and figuring out how to fill them all, you would not have put John Egbert at candidate one on that list. Here you were though, watching him with his matesprit while his kismesis stood a few feet away, making rude gestures at him over Dave’s ashen protests. On the other side of the table Jane Crocker is rolling her eyes while she puts candles on the cake, clearly debating giving her moirail a piece of her mind.

 

Yep, a human with four full quadrants. You and Davepeta were gonna have such a gossip jam slash shipper flail about this later, you just knew it.

 

Dave finishes corralling Terezi and returns to your side, grabbing your hand and leading you over to the pile of oddly wrapped and brightly colored gifts in front of the DJ table, which Dirk has temporarily taken over in light of the various relationship shenanigans. You can feel the others around you even if you can’t see them directly, knowing that Kanaya is talking to Jade by the punch bowl while the Mayor and Peregrine, his lady friend, are munching on the vegetables Jade brought from her garden. Above you Jake is playing a weird version of frisbee with Arquius and Davepeta that involves all three of them zooming around the party while throwing the disc at impossible angles and trajectories. You consider joining in later, knowing it’d be both fun and good for the group. You’re the leader after all. It is you.

 

You still aren’t used to your Knight of Blood powers letting you know intuitively how all your friends are doing, just like you still aren’t used to so many other aspects of this strange new life. You suppose time will breed familiarity, and that’s somewhat reassuring. Between being god tier and in a relationship with Dave, you had nothing but time.

 

Dave steps up to the DJ table and grabs the microphone from his paradox brother, giving him a fistbump and a grin. “Hey everyone, shut up and gather round, we’re gettin’ this party started!”

 

The others cease their various activities and gather around as Dave reaches over to take your hand, bringing you around to the other side of the table so everyone can see you. It’s a little embarrassing, but hardly the first time you’ve been in front of this particular crowd. Dave is still holding the microphone, and he gives you a thumbs up before he continues:    

 

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen, alien lifeforms, sprites, and carapacians. We are gathered here today to celebrate the most important event in our combined histories: the tenth wriggling day, or twentieth human birthday, of Karkat Elizabeth Vantas.”

 

“Trolls don’t have middle names, shitsponge,” you growl, feeling your cheeks turn red. You’d known Dave was going to be ridiculous at this party, but this was beyond even your expectations.

 

“I could use a nickname if you prefer,” Dave smirks. “I’ve got quite a few up my sleeve.”

 

“Stop torturing your boyfriend and get on with it,” Dirk says, giving his brother a nudge. “There’s cake to be had and presents to unwrap, let’s make shit take place.”

 

“Fine, be a boring loser, don’t let me humiliate the love of my life in public,” Dave says, and you’re pretty sure you feel your face catch fire. “Anyway, we’re here to celebrate Karkat turning another sweep older, and I just want to let everyone know the order of business as outlined by our esteemed master of ceremonies, the Maid of Life herself, Jane Crocker!”

 

Jane rolls her eyes at Dave’s shenanigans, but smiles at the rest of the group. Dave offers her the microphone but she declines, to your slight relief. Thank fuck not everybody was on board for the ridiculous theatrics. “Okay everyone,” she says. “Let Karkat open his presents, then we’ll have cake, and after that it’s back to the party.”

 

“Was that really so hard?” you ask Dave, who’s grinning like an idiot.  

 

“Shut up and open your presents,” Dave replies, leading you back around the table to the pile of gifts, which he sits you down in front of while the others gather, sitting in a squashed semicircle around you, all laughter and tangled limbs and amiable squabbling over who gets to give you their present first. Jane maintains her role as impromptu mistress of ceremonies and directs the flow of gifts, Dave selecting them from the pile as per her instructions and handing them to you per her instructions.

 

Everything becomes a blur of wrapping paper, cards, and smiles. You find yourself slowly being surrounded by a mountain of gifts, each of them threatening to bring tears to your eyes because holy fuck, have your friends always been this ridiculously thoughtful? A tiny mammalbeast skull Jake found on his latest expedition. A recipe for grubloaf Jane’s been tweaking for the last sweep so you can cook it with the ingredients Jade’s been growing. A print and calligraphied copy of a romance novel Rose spent the last two sweeps writing, signed and dedicated to you. A beautiful painting of everyone, signed in Calliope’s curling script. One of the original Can Town plans from the Mayor and Peregrine, the little Carapacian and his companion not minding when you insist on giving them a hug. An annotated book from Arquius called ‘Detective Pony’, which makes Jane snort with laughter and Dirk turn pink, burying his head in his hands in regret. A tiny cactus in a pot from Jade. A dead mouse from Davepeta, who insists it’s ironic before laughing at your horrified expression and offering you their real gift, a knitted hat with a crab on it. A blank journal from John with a handwritten note inside, encouraging you to ‘write more of those amazing troll romcoms’. A book of human coding languages from Dirk with a note inside inviting you to help program the next big computer project with him and Roxy. A plush scalemate holding a box of colored chalk with a noose around his neck, which Terezi insists is the best gift ever and entirely reminiscent of last year’s gift. You’d never admit it to anyone but Dave, but you love your growing collection of plush monsters, and know exactly where plush mister lemonsnout will go on your couch.    

 

You’re pretty much overwhelmed with gifts and friendship by the time Roxy reaches behind her and pulls out a kitten, fluffy and black with wide eyes and a squeaking meow that makes even the stoic Dirk go ‘awww’.

 

“As you may know, I’m constantly fuck deep in meowcats,” Roxy grins. “So I figure I’ll share the love. He’s all yours, Karks. Give him a name and a good home. Happy wriggling day.”

 

You pick up the kitten, which begins purring at your touch. It’s maybe a couple of months old, and as you set it down and watch it begin to swat and play at your new hat, you smile.

 

“Adam Sandler,” you nod decisively. “That will be his name.”

 

Dave snorts. “Nerd,” he says, giving you an affectionate nudge.

 

“Remember, no mocking my perfect taste in movies on my wriggling day,” you reply, crossing your arms. “The meowbeast’s name is my call, and he’ll be named after a comedy genius.”

 

“If you insist,” Dave rolls his eyes. “Okay, who’s left?”

 

“I believe it is just me and you, Dave,” Kanaya says, handing you a soft bundle wrapped in tissue paper. “Happy wriggling day, Karkat. I know you’ve grown some lately, but it should still fit.”

 

You smile, anticipating what’s inside but not expecting what you find, unfolding the sweater with a slight ‘o’ expression on your face. It’s a sweater, which doesn’t surprise you, Kanaya has gifted you many garments over the duration of your friendship, but this one is different. The black fabric is soft and comfortable, the sleeves a little too long just the way you like them, but the part you weren’t expecting is your sign, emblazoned on the front in a bold cherry red.

 

Dave whistles, impressed, while the others murmur as well. Kanaya smiles at you, her cheeks tinged with a green blush. “I know you’re still figuring everything out, Karkat,” she says. “But I also know you’re learning to be proud of who you are. I thought this might help.”

 

You hold the sweater in your hands for a moment, staring at the familiar design of circles and curved lines, and you examine the colour with something stirring in you so subtle, so unfamiliar.

 

You think it’s pride.

 

You lean over to give Kanaya a hug, the sweater smooshed between you as you whisper to her, a lump in your throat. “Thanks.”

 

“Any time,” she smiles. She’s tearing up a little too.

 

You swallow hard and look over at Dave, who’s holding a package about the size of a deck of cards. He slips an arm around your waist and hands it to you, the grin on his face still the one that makes you melt. “Guess that leaves me,” Dave says. “Not the most original gift out there, but romance isn’t exactly original either.”

 

“Bite me, asslord,” you grumble affectionately, tearing at the wrapping with a single claw and scraping the rest of the coloured paper away impatiently. You didn’t care if it was predictable, if it was expected, if you knew what it was the second you opened it, it was from Dave and that was all that mattered.

 

You hold the low-tech mix tape in your hands, turning the cassette box over and over, studying the writing along one side. It’s a track list, detailing songs you’ve never heard of but make perfect sense to you, each one with a more personal and touching title than the last. Knight in Red and Grey. Meteor Dance. Moonlight Whisper. Blood and Time. Heat and Haze. Foursquare. Can Town Romance. Beep Beep Meow.  

 

You look at him, his grin so wide it could split his face open. “You wrote all these songs?”

 

“You bet I did,” Dave grins, slipping his other arm around your waist in a tight hug. You remember when you first started this strange thing called human dating, when Dave would flinch away every time you went to touch him in public, his fear and trauma overwhelming his need. Things had changed, and you loved how much they had changed. “An entire concept album dedicated to my crabby paramour, my knight bro, my Kittykat, to celebrate ten whole sweeps of your glorious existence. Truly I am not worthy of your greatneFFMMF-”

 

Dave shuts up only because you kiss him. You can’t stop the tears this time but at this point you don’t really give a fuck, Dave just wrote you an entire album worth of music and he’s the love of your life and you’ll cry over his sappy romantic ass whenever the fuck you feel like it. Around you the others let out their usual chorus of ‘awww’s and ‘gross, get a room’s and laughter, several of them devolving into their own romantic displays of affection.

 

You’re okay with this though. Maybe it’s a Blood player thing, or maybe it’s just a you and Dave thing, but the two of you seem to inspire others to be sappy and romantic too. Around you Rose and Kanaya are wrapped in each other’s arms, Jade is playing with Davepeta’s feathers, and John and Roxy are somewhere between making out and making faces at Terezi. Not everyone gathered here tonight is paired up, fitting neatly into some quadrant or other, if any, but even the people without romantic partners feel happy, content, pleased and satisfied, and that’s all you could ever ask for.

 

You and Dave break off the kiss only when Jane clears her throat and reminds you all that there’s cake to be eaten. You drag yourself up off the grass, leaving your pile of gifts behind, and gather around the table, where the intricately decorated confection awaits. Jane has decorated it in a strangely beautiful mix of grey and red frostings, your name a swirling cursive in a sea of white buttercream frosting. You’re wedged between Dave and Kanaya and everyone is excited, smiling and laughing and so full of life, so full of joy.

 

There are ten candles on the cake, each with two wicks so there are twenty flames. Jane smiles. “Best of both cultures, I think,” she says. “Everybody get ready to sing!”

 

Your friends clumsily make it through an off-key rendition of the human Happy Birthday song, though Kanaya, Terezi, Arquius, and Davepeta add a few bars of the alternian Wriggling Day song just to get you to start crying again, you swear that’s got to be the reason.

 

“Okay, make a wish, Karkat,” Jane says, and you lean forward, looking around you at the people who are here to celebrate how far you’ve come, how far they’ve all come too. You think of everyone you lost to get here but the heaviness of their absence is counterbalanced with the knowledge that your life is their memory, and you’re here, ten sweeps old and happy and loved and in love, and for the first time, truly living. Beside you Dave is smiling and he takes your hand, making you wonder if he knows what you wish for. It wouldn’t surprise you. Nobody knows you better than him.

 

 _Let us be happy,_ you wish. _Let us all live long lives here and be happy_.  

 

You smile back at Dave, squeeze his hand, and blow out the candles.   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written in honor of Karkat Vantas's wriggling day. Shout out to where-the-shit-is-my-art-pencil for inspiring some of the gifts given to Karkat in [this](http://where-the-shit-is-my-art-pencil.tumblr.com/post/145814052960/what-the-other-kids-gave-karkat-for-his-birthday) post. 
> 
>  
> 
> Posted today, 6/12/16, as my heart goes out to the victims of the tragic shooting in Orlando and their families. It's not the most traditional way to grieve or show remembrance, but I chose to channel all of my sorrow and rage into a fic about letting love win. Hopefully it will help lift your spirits in these dark times.


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